Payday (2nd in the Vicksburg series)
by PollyVictorian
Summary: Scott starts to think about the possible consequences of having enlisted.


"Scott, would you help me out with something?"

Scott looked up from the letter he was writing as Rick Hardy approached him. He had managed to find a relatively quiet spot on a tree stump between two tents. The soldiers of the 83rd Indiana had just been told that the regiment was moving out in a few days and as well, they had received their sign-up bounty and pay up to the end of October. It was hard to say which was causing more excitement. The whole camp was abuzz. Jed Lewis – or maybe it was Joe Lewis, he could never tell the twin brothers apart – was in the middle of a group of soldiers, bragging at the top of his voice about what he was going to do with his pay in town. He didn't intend to have much of it left, that was sure, although how and when he expected to get into Lawrenceburg, Scott didn't know. There wouldn't be any furlough granted before the regiment left for Tennessee and attempting to sneak out of camp under Sergeant Stevenson's eye would take more courage, in Scott's view, than facing a line of Confederate guns. But the other enlisted men were catching Lewis's enthusiasm and adding their own voices to the racket in the camp.

Finding somewhere peaceful for reading or letter-writing was hard enough at any time – it was one of the aspects of army life that Scott found it hard to get used to – but today it seemed almost impossible, so Scott's first reaction to Private Hardy's interruption was annoyance. He subdued the feeling, however – common sense, if nothing else, told him that he and his comrades-in-arms would have to be able to rely on one another. Next time it might be him asking Hardy for help and it might be on a battlefield. So now he smiled at his fellow private.

"Sure, Rick," he said, "What can I do for you?"

"You're doing some writing there," Hardy looked down at the paper in front of Scott.

"Yes, I'm writing to my grandfather."

"Would you write a letter for me, and address the envelope?"

"Be glad to, Rick. Are you writing home before we move out?"

"I want to send some money home. I got paid fifty dollars – I'm going to send half of it back to the folks."

Scott nodded. A lot of the Indiana boys were doing that. For many families, losing the work or the income of a son who had enlisted in the army was a financial blow. He pulled out an envelope.

"Who do I address it to?"

"Mr Elijah Lewis, Oakridge Farm, Selma." Scott looked up.

"Any relation to the Lewis boys?" Hardy nodded.

"Yes, their father. I lived on their farm."

"Ah, I knew you were acquainted with them before you joined up. Are you related?"

"No, I don't have any kin of my own. The Lewises took me in from the orphanage when I was ten. They were real good to me; gave me my own place to sleep over the barn and let me have my meals with the family."

"Didn't they send you to school?" Scott asked.

"No, I was needed on the farm to do the chores while Jed and Joe were in school."

"Why don't you ask one of them to write for you?" Scott wanted to know. Hardy squirmed a little.

"Well, they're not planning on sending anything back and it might look like I was, well, criticising them, sort of."

Scott nodded again. "I understand. But if the sons of the family aren't sending any of their pay home, then surely you're not obliged to."

"I suppose not, but I want to. I owe the Lewises an awful lot and I'd like to pay them back some way."

It sounded to Scott like anything Rick Hardy owed the Lewis family had been more than paid back in sweat and hard work, but he said nothing.

"I'm lucky to have someone to send money to," Hardy went on. "You've got to have someone. The worst thing in the world is being alone. I found that out after my ma died and I was sent to the orphanage. You've got to have someone."

LL  
>LL<br>LLLLL

After he'd written the letter for Hardy and the little private had left him, Scott sat gazing at the half-filled sheet of paper in front of him. The call to drill would sound in a few minutes; the letter to his grandfather would have to be finished later.

He was informing his grandfather for the first time which regiment he had enlisted in and whereabouts he was – at the moment, anyway. By the time the letter reached Boston, the 83rd Indiana would be on the march south and it would be difficult for Harlan Garrett to carry out his threat of having Scott traced and brought back if he enlisted in defiance of Harlan's orders. That was Scott's biggest fear: that his grandfather would use his influence to have Scott discharged from the army and sent back to Boston like a puppy that had misbehaved.

At least, it had been his biggest fear until now. Rick Hardy's words had triggered a new sort of worry. What if Harlan Garrett did not forgive his grandson's disobedience? What if his grandfather disowned him? "You've got to have someone" Hardy had said, twice. Scott began to understand Rick's devotion to people who had taken him into their home as an unpaid chore boy. Even that would be better than the nothingness Scott would be left with if his grandfather no longer acknowledged him as his grandson. Harlan Garrett was his only close relative in the world. What if by disobeying him, deceiving him, in a sense rejecting him by enlisting under the name of Lancer, Scott had gone too far?

At the thought of his legal name, it came into his mind that, technically, his grandfather was not his only relative. There was one closer: Murdoch Lancer. But a father who had never so much as written him one letter didn't really count. No, if his grandfather disowned him, Scott would be alone in the world.

The bugle sounded for drill and Scott rose. He heard Sergeant Stevenson's voice.  
>"Lewis! McRae! Hardy! Lancer! Get into line, you lazy bunch! You're supposed to earn that pay, you know!"<p>

As the sergeant barked out his orders, something else occurred to Scott. He had received his pay, forty-five dollars – he'd enlisted two weeks later than Rick Hardy and the Lewis brothers – but had not given it much thought. He still had almost twice that left from the money he'd brought with him when he'd come to Indiana to enlist. But that had been from Scott Garrett's allowance. That wouldn't be coming any more, he had suddenly realised. Even if his grandfather became reconciled to his enlistment, there would be no more stepping down the street to his banker's, not while serving with an army regiment in the field. So long as the war lasted, he would have to manage on Private Lancer's thirteen dollars a month.

"Get a move on, Private Scott Lancer." Corporal Cassidy's order, unlike Sgt Stevenson's, was delivered with a good humor that only military discipline kept from being accompanied by a grin.

"Yes, sir." Scott picked up his musket from the stack and fell into line beside Tice McRae.

Most likely he was worrying over nothing. Harlan Garrett would be angry at his grandson's disobedience, there was no doubt about that, but Scott was Harlan's only family, too, and the bond between them was strong. Strong enough, Scott hoped, to hold through a troubled time.

And if it wasn't? Well, then, that would be a price he would have to pay. He had taken the step that he knew was right and he would see it through, no matter what the cost might be. For good or ill, he was a soldier in the United States Army.

Private Scott Lancer.

Didn't sound bad, at that.


End file.
